


Marital Bedtime

by Sintina



Series: Bedtime Stories [2]
Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: F/M, Loving Marriage, Sexy Times, Your Parents Totally Had Sex in Your Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 12:07:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4960015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sintina/pseuds/Sintina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vegeta and Bulma finally get a bed all to themselves... </p>
<p>Immediate explicit epilogue to "Bedtime," because I can't help myself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marital Bedtime

Bulma’s body lulled in and out of sublime liquidity. Then, a moment of consciousness. She never wakes up feeling like this anymore! No little feet lodged in her ribs? No fists tangled in her hair? After dozing back to tingly numbness, her eyes blinked open a third time in as many minutes, reality seeping in. She wasn’t in her bed. She was curled in a ball, not sprawled out in her typical stretch for mattress supremacy. What magical cloud cradled her like this? Her body wiggled to test its surroundings, not much, she couldn’t, because she was encased by warm granite. Vegeta?! His arm girded her back, a protective second spine as she was tucked into his side. Bulma could tell he was all that prevented her from falling off the bed. The empty air below the roundest part of her behind sent a chill across the dimples of her lower back. His hand, firmly viced on the soft meat of her thigh, twitched, and thumb gingered circles in the divot of her hip, knowing she was awake.

She smiled into his ribs, adjusting herself up only slightly as she became aware of the soft snores of her children in Trunks' bed with them. Could they make their escape? What time was it? How long did they have? Adept fingertips trailed down her pelvis, inside her thigh, palpitating like a pied piper trilling his instrument, and every bit as seductive, her skin responded, following his touches with long lines of raised chills in merry succession. Her chest rose and fell, anticipation quickening her breath, even through her barely-awake haze. Her leg dared to bend, her knee trying to scale his thigh without disrupting the delicate stretch of the sheets. Fortunately, they were above covers and the kids were underneath, a tiny blessed barrier. With the inside of her knee, she teased at the stretch of his spandex below his pelvis. Vegeta's muscles tightened only a moment and then his hand ducked swiftly between her legs and squeezed.

This was so wrong on so many levels! Arousing one another while the fruits of their prior arousal slumbered draped across Vegeta's other two limbs. Their bodies struggling to intertwine, yet forced to make barely-perceptible movements. It was a new kind of torture. Vegeta could tell Bulma was uncomfortable, but loving it. Something about how tense she felt, a knotted cord he needed to rend open and stretch at both ends to relieve the pressure. He smiled. His fingers could work any knot inert in a matter of moments and now they laced their way to their favorite little coil of flesh. Bulma's thighs clamped together in a futile effort to immobilize his hand.

He stopped. He'd let her stew in the loss of his pleasures a moment. Make her regret her small victory. Vegeta wanted to free his left arm from beneath the mound of his son's sleeping weight. He had a few options. Speed. He could whip his hand out from under the brat, so as not to disturb the boy at all. However, he wasn't sure if the sudden loss of the arm's presence would wake Trunks as he sunk deeper into the mattress. Or worse, the brat could roll right off the bed and Bulma would slap him and Bra would wake screaming. Second option, if speed was not viable, then stealth. He could carefully remove his arm from beneath Trunks in such a way that the boy's slumber would not be perturbed. As Vegeta attempted to solve the conundrum of his left hand, his right pretended to struggle against Bulma's muscles. Her thighs tensing and flexing over his knuckles, struggling to maintain their tenuous, and ultimately imaginary, control. Perhaps more pitiful than her attempts to stop him was the welcoming wetness she rubbed against the ball of his wrist with each scrunch of her hips, trying to write his hand away from where she clearly desired it to be.

Then Vegeta heard her teeth clench. This new game was riling her indeed! So delicious, the sound of her frustration. And he gave up on his left hand, a lost solider in battle, and redoubled the efforts of the digits between his wife's legs. 

Chills skating figure eights up Bulma's skin forced every faint hair follicle to rise, slaves in salute of their master. What could she do now? She dare not squirm any more. Kicking out with her foot, a reflex she _so_ needed, as twitches of desire tickled the back of her knees, would surely stir Vegeta's left leg atop which her sleeping 18 month old sputtered snot with each silly, adorable little puff of slumber. Even readjusting her hips, so as to be less accessible to his ministrations, would send a jolt of aftershocks through the bed that might tumble her son to the floor. 

And so she let the flush rush everywhere and tightened her muscles against it at the same time and she felt that wicked, wonderful, torturous smile of that damned superior husband of hers. The skin of his chin stretched with that cruel smirk against her scalp. And she was every inch as powerless as he wanted her to be. 

Yet, of course, Bulma was in control here. They both knew that if she wasn't loving every hated moment of it, every embarrassing wrongness (well, who in this house was right?) dripping from her and threatening to leave evidence on her son's Minecraft comforter, she could just hop up and end it. "Alright!" a braver Bulma might shriek, seizing her victory, "Everybody up and out of this bed! It's time for breakfast and we have a million and one things to do today!" Then both children would tumble to the floor in a heap and Bra would spring up laughing and Trunks would feign some pain she'd caused him, pretending he felt a bruise forming, and Vegeta, defeated- if only for a moment, a brief respite- would look up at her with cunning eyes behind which she could see all the horrible, wonderful plots to trap her, tease her, take her... next time. 

But Bulma was not so selfless, yet. Really, it wasn't fear keeping her in this bed, piled under her family, being creamed like so much butter in a churn. It was pure, satisfying, selfishness. A feeling that once defined her, the princess of all she surveyed, but since Bra's birth, had become a lower and lower priority. Her own mental, emotional, and physical stimulation last in line after the unending needs and wants of her children.

Just then, as Vegeta and Bulma both tried to decide how far this would or could go, they heard Trunks' breathing change. He was awake, but only just, and still pretending to sleep. He must believe his parents to be asleep as well. Good. Make him suffer! She could feel her husband had the same plan, fake sleep as long as possible! Make him squirm! Vegeta's hand slithered away from the sweet spot and coiled once more around her hip. She tried to measure her breathing like that of a sleeping woman.

Vegeta smiled, because it was impossible for her to fake-sleep. He and Trunks both knew she was loud and disgusting when she truly slept. Trunks would regain enough consciousness to realize they were tricking him soon. But Vegeta lingered in the comfort of the moment, soaking in the oddity of family. Their warmth and blessed, if so rare, silence, soothing aches he didn't know he had. If he were a different man, he would have flexed both arms to bring his wife and son tighter against him. Perhaps gently kneed Bra up into a family bear hug. He huffed a breath at the ridiculous image this train of thought conjured in his mind.

Feigning a sleepy jolt at the sound of his snort, as if in a dream, Bulma scooched herself up, nuzzling under his chin. Tired of this game already, he kissed the mess of her undone morning hair.

“Gross!” Trunks exclaimed, so very thankful they were awake, “Are you guys gonna be gross in my bed all day?” Bulma turned her face away into Vegeta's collarbone- if the boy only knew!- she had to hide her ear-to-ear grinning.

Vegeta didn’t acknowledge Trunks and instead kissed Bulma’s crown again. She giggled and reached out a hand to Trunks’ belly in an attempt at a tickle.

“No! Hey! Don’t make me part of this!” Trunks hissed, noticing his sister was still comatose and gurgling.

“You don’t have a choice, brat,” Vegeta’s hand clasped Trunks shoulder and held him down. Bulma’s fingers were quick in their attack. Trunks couldn’t believe he was caught so off guard! These two, his parents, were way too quick for him! Way too good at this! Still, he refused to cry out in laughter. He couldn’t give them the satisfaction. Trunks squirmed and strained, the tickles taking over his whole body, his teeth clenched and cheeks strained. Finally, he cracked, guffawing.

“No! No! Stop!” He laughed in choked gasps punctured with hiccups and squeaks. So very unmanly! Trunks was embarrassed by both the noises they made come out of him and how incapacitated he was to stop them. Since when were his parents actually capable of anything... well, as a team, that is? His dad can do anything. Which is probably why this is working so well. His father’s hand was a steel rivet driven through his shoulder and connecting him to the bed. Bulma dove in and tickled him harder once she finally heard him laugh; she got his neck, his armpits, behind his knees- that was the worst spot!

Bra burst awake with toddler glee, as though she’d never fallen asleep, not missing a beat in her assessment of the situation she slapped her hands on Vegeta’s shin with joy: “Tie-Tie! Fun!” Trunks hated her baby name for him. She began to clamber towards the tickle fight from her spot near the foot of the bed. 

“That’s right, Bra," Vegeta gruffed, smirking, "go in for the kill!” Trunks’ heart slammed at his father's voice. Was that pride? Or love? Just emotion in general? That same tone always laced Vegeta’s voice when he spoke to Bra. Enough was enough. He'd heard his father call him nothing but "brat" for the first four years of his life, at least! And now they'd named a kid 75% of the word "brat" and yet Vegeta never said it once to her! Worse, if Bra got onto this dogpile, Trunks wouldn’t be able to fight his way out - he’d risk hurting her.

“No more!” he shrieked in a last ditch effort to get them to relent without forcing him to power up. 

Bulma giggled: “Not a chance! I rarely get to incapacitate a Saiyan!”

Vegeta’s free hand pinched one of her round butt cheeks- she was draped over his lap after all- to remind her how skilled she really was at Saiyan disablement. She responded with a jump and a feigned knee to his stomach. But their eyes caught one another’s in an unspoken promise of the grown-up tickle-fight to come. And his reminder of her power in those situations goaded her tickling fingers on with a hearty laugh.

Neither parent noticed Trunks stopped laughing. Just as Bra clumsily grabbed his foot for her way into the fight, Trunks charged up his ki in a little burst, shrugged off his father’s hand and dashed from the room in a blur.

“I got dibs on the TV!” came a shout from the stairs they heard him bounding down. 

Bra shook her little palm like she got a static shock from the carpet and blinked at the bedroom door. “Tie-tie?” Looking at her parents for an answer. 

“He broke the hold,” Vegeta explained, “your brother knew better than to fight back, so he ran away. Picking your battles is a skill as important as fighting them.” 

Bulma flopped face forward in an exaggerated show of annoyance. “Really?!” she muffled into the mattress. Vegeta’s hand gripped her waist and spun her over onto her back. She let out an “eekk!” as he straddled her, growling through a broad grin, close to her face: 

“Really." His pelvis pressed into hers, "Only fight a battle you can win!” 

“Pa-Pa win!” Bra bounced on her knees and slapped the mattress to make everyone bounce with her.

Bulma laugh-snorted: “That’s right, sweetheart, always let him think he’s winning!” Bra slapped the mattress again, loving the way it bounced everyone. A few more times and the waves of the springs sent Vegeta and Bulma's loins rocking into one another. Vegeta’s smirk spread with gloating as Bulma’s breath quickened. He looked over at Bra:

“Gran-gran has your breakfast ready, no doubt.” 

“Yum yum!” Bra squealed and clapped her hands. She then took her protracted time climbing clumsily down from the bed. But once she hit the floor, she went speed-crawling out of the room and scooching her way butt-first down the stairs in hasty little thumps. Bulma had long since stopped worrying about her daughter getting hurt. And then his hardness ground against her, erasing thoughts of Bra’s potential injuries. 

“Not here,” she choked, head dropping back and exposing her neck in a way that said ‘here, there, anywhere, just do it now!’ He responded by supping on that milky neck in wide-mouthed, lavishing slurps with nibbles in turn. His nostrils flared at the scent of her actual milk, so close.

“Has my sow been milked yet?” his tongue swirled lower. He knew Bulma hated the idea of him drinking from her. It grossed her out and her consistent reaction goaded him on every time. She was ready for this though, she knew all his tricks: 

“ _Sow_?!” she hissed, glaring phony daggers as she writhed away to punish him, make him chase her up the mattress, “You wouldn’t steal sustenance from your baby daughter’s mouth now would you?”

Vegeta’s exhale punctuated his defeat, and his eyes shot up at her. 

“Of course not!” It was a pout and she smiled at her victory.

“Come on. Let’s go take a shower or something,” she cooed, still uncomfortable ‘being gross’ in their son’s bed. Vegeta's answer was a knee riding up between her thighs to part them as he pinned her once again with his weight.

“Your taboos mean nothing to me, human,” using his older, crueler alien voice which always exploded a thrill of conquest and capture in her muscles as they struggled against him. Before she could complain further, he swallowed her mouth in his own and his hands made quick work of freeing the parts he wanted from the robe that barely hid them in the first place. Banal murmurs of the cries she might have uttered died vainly in his mouth as she couldn’t even break her face away from his to give true voice to any complaints. 

The bedroom door still wide open, as Trunks and Bra had left it, and her mostly naked, sprawled longways across the narrow of their son’s bed, this was a torture he’d never tried with her before and her responses were so intense he already plotted other ‘sacred’ children’s spaces in which to molest her to another frenzy. Perhaps the line of cars outside the school waiting to pick Trunks up at the end of the day? They certainly had a vehicle with tinted windows where he could ravish her as 10 year olds skipped by, unknowing. Yes. That would be a good one. But the two of them almost never pick Trunks up anymore... and the car would smell heavy with sex as soon as the brat got in. No, even better would be:

"The next time you drag me to another infernal parent-teacher conference," his fingers clenched in her hair, as his lips trailed south, "I'm going to fuck you on the principal's desk," he bit her hipbone, dragging his teeth along the tender trail between bone and heat, "just before we go in to talk to that damnable shrew teacher of his," he dove into her with a Saiyan's appetite, and she gasped, grabbing a pillow to cover her face and drown out her sighs. Vegeta came up for air to taunt: "You'll have that just-fucked look on your face when you shake her hand!" Bulma gushed all over his chin and neck. 

Vegeta crawled up over her again and removed the pillow to look down at the mess he’d made of her features. A ferocity clawed from her eyes and panting, engorged lips. “Make it quick!” a voice of hers he hadn’t yet heard demanded. And he was inside her and the sounds the bed made against the floor terrified them both of the children downstairs who could no doubt hear this commotion. Because of those kids, Bulma had often practiced silent screams of pleasure, more choking inhales and fervent exhales, strangling their way out with each powerful thrust as she clung to fistfuls of Minecraft comforter as though it could ground her against the waves of wrongness and oh-so-rightness overwhelming her senses. Would she even hear them if they came in? Even care?! She arched so high into him it hurt her spine.

Accustomed to a constant threat of danger, no matter what else his body may be doing, Vegeta’s senses were piqued for either child’s approach. He wanted this to last longer, fuck, her contagious hysteria ripped through his muscles . She exploded beneath him, and he lost his awareness for only a second, violently coming with her. Blinking back into reality, he smiled down at her, before rolling off, whipping up all the sheets and closing her robe in a flash of his Saiyan speed. Bulma tumbled to the foot of the bed, but regained herself and pretended to be tugging at the mattress just as Trunks burst in: “What are you guys doing up here?!” 

Vegeta groused: “It seems Bra spit up on your bed overnight, instead of ours, _for once._ ”

“EW!!! Aw, man!!! Mom! Why’d you have to bring her in here?!” 

“Excuse me, young man? This is my house and your sister and I will sleep wherever we please!” 

Vegeta shot her a look that said ‘You mean I’ll fuck you wherever we please!’ And she couldn’t help blushing and hoping Trunks didn’t notice- not that her whole body wasn't flush with afterglow anyway, but still. Kami, once this kid knows what sex is there'll be no hiding it, ever. They finished stripping the pillow cases together and called the cleaning bots in to steam and vaccum the mattress. A crime scene totally clear of incriminating DNA evidence! The most powerful couple in the world high-fived behind their son’s back on the way out of his room. 


End file.
